did you say diddy-money?

[This post previously posted on Christmas. Here it is again, hopefully a little less difficult to follow, although I can't make any promises.]

There's nothing like a little Diddy to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus. Yes, that sweet, infantile baby Jesus. And yes, by Diddy I mean Puffy, by Puffy I mean Sean Combs. Have you heard his new album? If you haven't, I insist you buy it. And when you get that album, I insist that you listen to #5. But please don't judge me. After all, today is the day we celebrate the birth of our sweet Lord baby Jesus and he wasn't big on the whole judgment thing coming from anyone but him.

While we're on the topic of music you might as well get your hands on a copy of "Sleigh Bells." I might have found them because I am mildly obsessed with M.I.A. and they just might be on her record label. They might be kind of awesome, although I can't promise you their album has much to do with Christmas.

Speaking of which, did I ever tell you about the M.I.A. concert? Best. Night. Ever. Had it not been for my super awesome and fashionable walking boot (broken foot), I may have had even more fun. However I can't hate on the boot too much---it did make me some rather questionable friends waiting in line for the bathroom. Friends I would not have made had it not been for my awesome boot. But hey, I'll take props from anyone complimenting me on my ability to "rock it" despite an injury. Even if said person might have been killing time while her friend did a line or two in the restroom I happened to be waiting for.

Speaking of lines, I'm pretty confident the headliner of the night did a few of those herself before gracing us with her presence. However, once she was onstage she kept it clean. That is if you consider clear liquid that burns on the way down "clean". How else would one quench their thirst in between gyrating the crowd and climbing perhaps the world's largest speakers? If it weren't for the dancers dressed in graphic printed burkas, the very....um...sexual European (male) dancers, and the slightly inebriated lead performer on stage, I might not have fit in with my (need I say) awesome boot.

With the music on point except for some feedback due to the Guinness sized speakers squeezed into a club the size of my living room, I left the show on a mixed media, music pulsating, base pumping high. I had met my match. Well, less of a match and more of an alter ego. So with a pitter patter in my heart, a faint migraine forming in my frontal lobe, and a boot on my foot, I left the scene of my brush with musical chaos.

You may be wondering what this all has to do with Christmas, and to be honest, for a moment I wondered as well. I promise you it has nothing to do with the true meaning of Christmas but everything to do with the fact that today I received a year's subscription to "Rolling Stone" magazine, and I couldn't be happier. Now that is a good way to start the year.